Marroca Page #3

"Marroca" is a short story by French author Guy de Maupassant that captures the complex interplay of human emotions, desire, and the social implications of love. The narrative revolves around a young woman named Marroca, whose life and choices challenge societal norms. Maupassant's keen observational style and mastery of character development create a poignant exploration of intimacy, societal expectations, and the struggles of personal freedom. Through rich descriptions and nuanced interactions, the story delves into themes of passion and the constraints imposed by society, inviting readers to reflect on the nature of love and individuality.

• Short story

								

let you in."

The man came in, and I could see nothing of him but his feet, which were
enormous. If the rest of him was in proportion, he must have been a
giant.

I heard kisses, a little pat on her naked flesh, and a laugh, and he
said, in a strong Marseilles accent: "I forgot my purse, so I was
obliged to come back; you were sound asleep, I suppose." He went to the
cupboard, and was a long time in finding what he wanted; and as Marocca
had thrown herself onto a bed, as if she were tired out, he went up to
her, and no doubt tried to caress her, for she flung a volley of angry
r's at him. His feet were so close to me that I felt a stupid,
inexplicable longing to catch hold of them, but I restrained myself, and
when he saw that he could not succeed in his wish, he got angry, and
said: "You are not at all nice, to-night. Good-bye." I heard another
kiss, then the big feet turned, and I saw the nails in the soles of his
shoes as he went into the next room, the front door was shut, and I was
saved!

I came slowly out of my retreat, feeling rather humiliated, and while
Marroca danced a jig round me, shouting with laughter, and clapping her
hands, I threw myself heavily into a chair. But I jumped up with a
bound, for I had sat down on something cold, and as I was no more
dressed than my accomplice was, the contact made me start, and I looked
round. I had sat down on a small axe, used for cutting wood, and as
sharp as a knife. How had it got there? ... I had certainly not seen it
when I went in; but Marroca seeing me jump up, nearly choked with
laughter, and coughed with both hands on her stomach.

I thought her amusement rather out of place; we had risked our lives
stupidly, and I still felt a cold shiver down my back, and I was rather
hurt at her foolish laughter. "Supposing your husband had seen me?" I
said. "There was no danger of that," she replied. "What do you mean? ...
No danger? That is a good joke! ... If he had stooped down, he must have
seen me."

She did not laugh any more; she only looked at me with her large eyes,
which were bright with merriment. "He would not have stooped." "Why?" I
persisted. "Just suppose that he had let his hat fall, he would have
been sure to pick it up, and then... I was well prepared to defend
myself, in this costume!" She put her two strong, round arms about my
neck, and, lowering her voice, as she did when she said: "I adorre
you," she whispered: "Then he would never have got up again." I did
not understand her, and said: "What do you mean?"

She gave me a cunning wink, and put out her hand to the chair on which I
had sat down, and her outstretched hands, her smile, her half-open lips,
her white, sharp, and ferocious teeth, all drew my attention to the
little axe which was used for cutting wood, whose sharp blade was
glistening in the candle-light, and while she put out her hand as if she
were going to take it, she put her left arm round me, and drawing me to
her, and putting her lips against mine, with her right arm she made a
motion as if she were cutting off the head of a kneeling man!

This, my friend, is the manner in which people here understand conjugal
duties, love, and hospitality!
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